Why?
by Snowfilly
Summary: Who ever said that Elrond was a kindly father? Estel's childhood story - pain, beatings, starvation and terror. WARNING - later chapters will contain graphic scenes of abuse. ON HOLD.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer - These characters all belong to Tolkien, and I have made no money from using them. 

A/N- This is all written from personal experience and memory, and is dedicated to anyone who has gone through this and also to Mel, my mates at school and Mr. J. Thank you.

Estel cowered in the corner of the Hall of Fire, suppressing a whimper of fear. Elrond's footsteps, firm and sure with that long, steady stride, carried to his ears and he swallowed hard. Cold fingers of fear - nay, pure terror gripped his racing heart. 

__

Yet he is my father, his blood flows through my veins, Estel rationalised. _Why am I so afraid of my own kin?_ The answer run down his face - blood, bright red against torn ivory skin and bloodstained hair. It covered his hands, where he had tried to wipe the blood from his face. It run down his cheeks mixed with his tears.

He wiped the blood away, slowing his breathing as best as he was able for fear of being overheard. The corner where he was hiding was dark, but not dark enough to hide him. He let his lids drop half over his eyes to ensure Elrond could not see the gleam of firelight reflecting off of them. Estel moved slightly to ease a cramped muscle and gave a stifled gasp. _He hurts me, causes pain beyond enduring to me and still I cannot escape his grasp. And maybe, I would not want to._

Elrond paused in his stride and Estel glanced up at the towering shadow, fearful. _He is my father and yet I do not see myself in him. How cruel is that glint of his dark eyes and how I fear his touch. Surely this man can not be akin to me, for if he is, why does he beat me?_ Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, neither mortal Man nor Elven, crouched and roughly grabbed Estel by the shoulder. The boy cowered away in panic.

Whatnow? _Why must he persecute me still further when my head spins from his blow and my stomach cramps from hunger whilst darkness settles on my heart? And what sort of person can I be to deserve such treatment from my own father? How very little he can think for me, for how very much I hate myself. _

The expected blow came, sending the stars of Elbereth into his clouded vision as he fell heavily onto the cold stones, but at the brutal touch, his spirit flared wildly, proudly._ No longer shall I be content to take his from him, weak though I am. He has hurt my flesh beyond belief, torn at my very soul but I shall not submit to him, my father or no._

But the future King of Gondor raged helplessly against power and force too great for mortals to comprehend and despite the smouldering fire that burnt in his tear filled eyes and the defiance in his heart, he was defeated even as Elrond lashed out, his foot catching Estel on the ribs. 'Ahhh... Don't. _Father_...Please.'

Elrond laughed, and dragged his foster son to his feet. 'Stand up.' His fist crashed in Estel's stomach, making the boy retch and fight for breath even as he heard and translated Elrond's angry cry. The Quenyan words hurt him deeply, even though he hated the one who spoke them. 'You are not my son.' 

Does_ he say that only to hurt me or is that what he would prefer this to be? Or worse, does he actually speak the truth to me for once? Am I, in truth, no relation of his and walk alone in Middle Earth? If that is so, at least it is easier to hate one whose flesh and blood is not my own. But why did they lie to me?_

Elrond glared at the boy who stood trembling in front of him, and a mirthless, lupine grin crossed his face. 'Get out of my sight, Estel. I do not wish to see you again until tonight.'

Estel nodded and left as fast as he was able to. His head was spinning not only from pain but also from Elrond's cryptic words, his stomach churning so much from Elrond's blow that he thought he might be sick. Hurriedly, he staggered over towards the pinewoods and once he was out of sight from the Last Homely House, he collapsed and wept long into the afternoon. _If only he spoke the truth earlier. If only he would not try and harm me. What have I ever said or done to him to deserve this? And if only someone would believe me if I spoke of this to them._


	2. Pain

Estel lifted his head; shuddering as a wave of dizziness swept over him as the result of Elrond's blow. _Where am I now? How long have I been unconscious for?_ Dimly, he felt straw pricking though his thin tunic scratching his back, and above the rank stench of his blood he could smell horse's sweat. The stables. _At least Glorfindel should be here soon. Maybe he will help me._

Memory began flooding back - an argument with Elrond, running to find sanctuary with either of his brothers, Elrond finding him, pain and terror beyond anything his young mind could have ever imagined. The last blow, coming out of nowhere because he had tried to resist...Elrond panicking because he had gone too far...Then blackness, intercepted by nightmare like visions until now. _How I hope that that was only a dream and it did not actually happen. Dear Valar let it have been a dream._

He raised his head, feeling every muscle scream in protest at even that simple movement. Estel caught the scent of Elrond's sweat on his own skin, and he gagged in revulsion, retching violently although there was nothing left in his stomach to vomit. _How could you, father? How could you have done something like this to your own son? _Tears rose in his eyes, stinging painfully until, because he was only young, he let them fall and wept. He had endured years of this at Elrond's hands, complaining never of his torment and pain; he had not cried as that had led to harsh beatings from the Lord of Rivendell; he had not told anyone because he could not find the words.

There was no way he could tell how long he lay there, every part of his body hurting, tears that were partly shame and partly pain streaming down his face, hiding the scar tissue on his cheek that would never heal._ I hate you, Elrond. I hate myself. If I was any sort of a person...I know well how little I am worth so must he continue to show me? If I could die here and now, I would not care. Dear Valar, may I die soon. _

The steady footsteps echoed in his throbbing head, each movement his father made an agony. Estel could sense that Elrond was there, on some animal level of consciousness that was not affected by pain; yet he was too ill to move or look up. _What do I care now? Nothing he does to me now can be worse than yesterday and if he wishes to kill me - I am not afraid of death._

Elrond glared at him, Estel feeling the pure hatred on a level that would never be matched until the day when, well on his way to becoming King of Gondor, he would meet Faramir, heir to the Stewardship. _I wish I knew what he is doing in the stables - it is not a place I would have expected to see him_. He felt sick and ashamed. 

__

A few minutes later Elrond had left, Estel fell into sleep again, his thin body shaking with cold, blood oozing from places he did not wish to think about and horrific memories crowding in on him. Elrond standing over him, knocking him to the floor, a towering figure above him with his face hidden in shadows. A harsh voice, blows from powerful fists that sped faster than he could see... He blocked out the rest of the memories.

'Wake up, little one. Wake up.'

The voice startled Estel, and fearing that it was Elrond, he raised his head as fast as he could forgetting the tear stains on his face. It was dark again, he realised, night had come while he slept and some one was speaking to him. _What now? How much more does he want from me?_

'Wake up. What are you doing here?' The voice was gentle, although it sounded strange to Estel. _That is not anyone in Rivendell that I know. _The face he saw was kindly, an old man with grey hair and beard although his eyes seemed to be forever young and he held the reins of a elderly black nag.

The visitor reached one hand out to Estel, who flinched away with a look of terror in his eyes. _Not again. I have never spoke to this one, so how can I have angered him?_ Gandalf - for he was the visitor - felt a sudden rush of pity for this child of the Second-born, living amongst the Elves of Rivendell and so plainly injured and alone yet still with a proud spirit burning in his red eyes.

Estel shut his eyes, feigning sleep until the man moved away. _I hope that Elrond does not speak to that visitor else..._His thoughts trailed away, overtaken by fear and self-loathing.

WARNING - Next chapter will contain graphic scenes of abuse, both physical and sexual along with a reason for some of Elrond's behaviour towards Estel. 


End file.
